[maybeitsmemaybeitsyou]

hey so children are dying and you’re worried about your low-quality pasta from fazoli’s being brought to you by a 16 yr old in heavy eyeliner.

hey so children are dying and you’re posting pathetic stuff about wanting a kiss from a girl so bad! (being a lesbian doesn’t make it less pathetic btw)

stop being pathetic, get laid, cook at home, stay off social media, stop being nosy, and hate your government a little more than you like to be online.

[maybeitsmemaybeitsyou]

and what if i quit writing because things are coming out horribly and i hate everything i write down and i can’t convey anything in the ways I want to.

i want to say im angry and the idea of not being enough to make people want to endure tragedies is soul crushing. that im selfish and i want to be the thing that anchors people and holds people down but that ive never been important enough to keep them from being swept up in their own fantasies.

and that’s a horrible and impulsive and selfish idea but it’s the way things are said.

‘I can’t wait to get away from here’

‘I can’t wait to not have these burdens’

‘I can’t wait until i can finally live’

but im living fine. I’m living through it. im living for it.

I put my entire life on hold to stay with you and you want to leave?

you want to leave me here with this mess and you don’t see how that would make me angry?

how she already left and did so gladly and when she told you she found a better family, i swallowed my own bile to hold you through it?

it hurt me too. it hurts me and you want to do the same thing?

go ahead. I don’t care and I don’t want to write anything beautiful about it.

this is all you get from me.

[maybeitsmemaybeitsyou]

and maybe there’s something about being on your knees.

there’s a slow burn in my throat and she’s looking at though im everything.

nothing maybe, I wouldn’t know the difference.

I know she likes pretending she has control over me. I know she likes the taunting and the back and forth and the obsession.

she can’t lose someone who doesn’t know how to exist in the first place.

keep me here baby. on the floor, under you, by your side. wherever you need me.

throw me down into the bowels of your grief and let me kiss the mold growing where your soul should be.

let me see the rot.

let me warm myself in the hot cavity of your guts, cover myself in blood and show you how here I am.

you can’t lose someone who doesn’t know how to touch mud without getting dirty.

let me in.

let me stay here on the floor in front of you with a strap in my mouth and your soul in my hands.

i know you like to think you have control.

[maybeitsmemaybeitsyou]

something about the way she walks with a purpose.

her wild, curly hair. the chains hanging off her jeans. the bruises on her knees you can see when she sits down and the blooms of purple and yellow peak through the torn denim.

and her hands,

god her hands.

the way they tremble slightly when she lifts a glass of something dark.

the swirl of ink on her arms, the soft tilt of her chin when she laughs. the boyish grin she throws me from across the room.

and i sit at a table in the corner with people im not sure i even like. a skimpy dress, some vibrant color. i stick out amongst the sea of black in a bad way.

in a wrong way.

but fuck, I’d trudge through throws of people who are purposely knocking liquor down my top just to see her grin at me like that again.

and when the people thin out, i know she’ll get me cornered in a bathroom. act as though she’s surprised to see me lingering around. tease me. taunt me like a child.

and then,

then she’ll stick her teeth in my throat and pull warmth from the core of my body and wrap her fingers around my hips too tightly.

I’ll wake up with a bruise on my neck and dried blood on my body and a stickiness between my legs.

and I’ll find her again and again

and again

and again

just for a moment in the twist of time.

just for her grin and her hunger.